And, as I gaze at the flickering flame of my handiwork, I feel it again. It’s the same thing I feel any time I create – be it a poem, a meal, a candle. Connection – that’s what I feel. But tonight I finally realized what I feel connected to.

It must have been after the tenth or eleventh picture I’d taken. After I set the shining amber jar in just the right spot at the center of our home. While I inhaled the natural scent of bee nectar.

This is a fraction of how you feel about me, isn’t it, I asked God, smiling at the thought of Him being a bit silly over His fascination with me.

And there it was: connection with my own Creator.

Maybe it’s not impossible to believe that God feels this way about His stuff. That He gets rowdy about mountain peaks, ocean tides, deciduous trees, rain showers, purple flowers, redbirds, vineyards, puppy dogs. That He gets rowdy about you. About me.

I suppose this little light of mine – imperfect, shining, dancing in the center of my dining room table – isn’t that different from me as I live in the center of God’s love. And the way I feel about my simple and extraordinary creation isn’t that different from the way God feels about me. Giddy about His own little light. Imperfect. Shining. Dancing. Loved.